


Put Your Hands On Me

by whatagoodboy



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Other, Transgender, ftm!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatagoodboy/pseuds/whatagoodboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine are newly together. Blaine gives Kurt a hug that lingers a tiny bit more than his usual ones do. Kurt can't stop thinking about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Your Hands On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Kurt's never had more physical intimacy besides kisses. He doesn't like to spend much time thinking about sex stuff, especially when his own body is concerned...
> 
> Until one night.

One touch. Simple. Unplanned. A quick, barely memorable movement. He's sure that Blaine is probably not aware that he'd even made it. Kurt remembers. He can't forget it, actually. It was Blaine's left hand, and it had fluttered across his chest--skimming a nipple for a fleeting second. They'd hugged that afternoon, saying their goodbyes for the day, both climbing into their respective cars with small waves and promises to text later. Right before Blaine pulled away from the embrace, his eyes sparkling, a deep chocolate hued green--he'd slid his hand from the collar of Kurt's wool coast and lightly dragged it to Kurt's waist, where it rested for only a beat.

 

They've only been officially dating for about two weeks, and Kurt is still constantly amazed at how intimate the smallest breaches of personal space thrill him to his core. Blaine Anderson has been his best friend for months, and has touched Kurt hundreds of times--leaned into him, embraced him, poked at him, gazed at him with a dazzling array of expressions--but it feels unendingly  _different_ now.

 

While he'd pined for Blaine (and, if you asked him if he'd pined he'd deny it to the death, thank-you-very-much), there was something that prevented him from fantasising about him in a sexual way. He'd let his mind latch on to images of them maybe holding hands, or making moony eyes at one another. Never anything more than PG-13. Blaine was far too  _real,_ represented so much for him to lose.

 

No, Kurt's fantasies involving sex before now had been relegated to his trusty, go-to visions of a nameless, faceless, man--holding him gently, a warm weight pressed against his torso. It hadn't taken much for Kurt to orgasm from those imaginings. He'd push his hands between his legs and rub and press until he felt his legs begin to shake and his thighs start to tense. Imagining the heat radiating from his mysterious lover quickly brought him to the edge, and it never took more than five minutes to find release.

 

 

He'd only resorted to masturbation when he felt like the pressure and throbbing in his groin just couldn't be ignored any further. Clothing stayed on. (Well, underwear and a t-shirt at the very least.) By keeping his clothes on, Kurt could close his eyes and let his mind carry him away--away to the mental place where his body looked just like any other sixteen-year-old boy's would. The reality of soft breasts in place of firm pectorals, and a small bundle of nerves and a hole where one didn't belong in place of a penis ignored for a time.

 

 

Kurt had absolutely no idea what to call his...bits. He thrilled at the idea of "cock", and had actually dared to whisper it to himself aloud on occasion--"My cock. Mine. Cock." he'd said, blushing furiously. One thing he was always loathe to do was actually touch himself--bare, without the comforting buffer of fabric between his body and the parts he tried so hard to cloak and pretend away daily.

 

 

Blaine is starting to change that. They've exchanged kisses, tongues darting together hot and wet--intense and breathtaking. Shared blushes and stammers and breaths caught in throats. No clothes have been shed yet, and Kurt is eternally grateful that things are moving as slowly as they have. His boyfriend (and, oh, how that word still makes his heart thump erratically and his lips split into grins he can't control...) knows he's transgendered, has had questions, but is so great about letting Kurt answer them, talk about "it" in his own time. The problem is--Kurt can talk about it until he's blue in the face, explain how it all feels, describe the mechanics of what he's got or doesn't have, but until the moment that Blaine gazes upon him naked...

 

 

Which is where his mind goes today after Blaine touches his chest, leaving his breasts tingling, nipples pebbled and sensitive. Me. Naked. With Blaine. What would that look like? What would it feel like? Would Blaine run?  _Jesus, would I run_ ? he wonders. Driving home, he daydreams, reaching his driveway with no recall of the journey. Walking in the door and hugging Carole hello and leaning against his Dad in a quick hug-like motion, Kurt retreats to his bedroom quickly afterward, his chest still tight and fluttery from the sense memory of Blaine's fingers on him. Homework and other mundane necessities suddenly seem so very unimportant. Kurt's skin feels wrong, his nerves firing strangely.

 

 

 

Somehow, he manages to finish his work, putting every ounce of available energy he can muster into trying to focus enough to get it done and out of his way. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he hears Finn shouting up the stairs for him to "come eat", and feels thankful for the break. Dinner is eaten, days discussed. Kurt remains only half-present the entire time. One section of his brain doggedly working at appearing interested and involved in conversations, another section driving him to distraction with a chorus of  _"Blaine...Blaine...Blaine...hot...touch...naked...Blaine"_ .

 

 

Kurt has a brief moment where he actually feels like he's become some sort of crazed sex maniac.  _It was only one touch. One. God, calm yourself,_ he admonishes himself. But he can't calm himself.  _It_ \--the contact, is all he can think about. He's never had anyone touch him with want, with a spark of something beyond familial or friendly intent. He feels like a crack has appeared somewhere in his mind--and now thoughts of  _more_ and  _crave_ and  _need_ are pouring in to his skull. They are loud enough to push aside the usual thoughts of,  _wrong body, stupid body, stupid breasts, not fair, I hate this_ which normally rattle around up there.

 

 

Touching lips, sweeping tongues, stifling moans, he's done that. He's replayed the sounds and sensations of his more intimate encounters with Blaine hundreds of times--to the point that he's certain each touch could be labeled and catalogued accurately in a small space set aside in his head. Touching...more? Not yet. As he excuses himself from the dinner table, and makes an announcement of, "Well, everyone--I'm off to bed. Been a long day...and I'm ready to check-out", he has a thought.

 

 

_How can I expect Blaine to touch me if I can't even touch myself? I can't even let myself...can I?_

 

 

Kurt shuts his bedroom door with a little bit more force than usual behind himself tonight--as if the certainty behind the loud click can maybe give him the push he needs to answer his questions. He rushes through his nighttime skin care routine, knowing in the back of his mind what he's going to do next. Satisfied that the job has been done thoroughly enough, he makes a motion to pull on his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt--ready to crawl into bed, but stops.

 

 

He's wearing a simple white tank top and boxer briefs--and has already shed his chest binder for the day. Taking it off at night feels like being able to breathe fully for the first time each day. It leaves red welts on his skin, and strange little wrinkle marks where the elastic has shifted from movement. Often, Kurt wants to massage his breasts, smooth out the aching spots--but he usually just drags a shirt over them, leaving them untouched.

 

 

He holds his pyjamas in his hand, staring at them for a minute.  _I don't need those tonight. No. Not tonight,_ he thinks. With a small shake of his head and a rueful smile, he lets the pants slip off of his index finger and watches them plop to the floor in an ungainly heap, then he tosses the t-shirt down next to them. Taking a deep breath, he slides his fingers to the waistband of his underwear, and slowly draws them down his thighs--kicking them away when they reach his ankles.

 

 

Kurt feels oddly free in the moment, and makes a snap decision to keep going. WIth sweaty palms, and shaking fingers, he grabs the hem of his tank top, rucking it over his head in one quick motion. He's completely naked. There is no water from the shower running over him in warm rivulets to distract him from his flesh, no outfit composed of many layers waiting for him to cloak his skin.

 

 

He's alone. Stepping slowly across his room, Kurt closes his eyes briefly before allowing himself to truly  _look_ at his reflection in the full length mirror behind the bathroom door.  _What am I so afraid of? What am I so ashamed of? There should be no harm in looking...just being, should there?_

 

 

Opening his eyes, the first thing he sees is white. Pale. Skin pink and rosy along his chest where he can feel his heartbeat fluttering madly. Then? Breasts. Round, nipples blushed red--hardening under his gaze. Crooking his head thoughtfully, Kurt allows himself to see without judgement. He lowers his eyes, taking in the rest of his body. His stomach is firm, and down, down, down? A patch of crinkled hair, in a 'V' shape.

 

 

Fleeting pangs of ache bubble up within him when he remembers that there is no proudly hanging penis there--just the 'V'. Still, a nervous thrum of desire pulses between his legs. He keeps looking. Turning to the side, he appreciates the view of his ass. Kurt's always liked his ass--it looks like an ass that belongs on a teenaged boy, and if there's any part of his body he preens over (besides his hair), it's his rear-end.

 

 

Running a hand over the downy texture of his butt, he feels the throb and heat between his legs intensify.  _Blaine has a gorgeous ass...I wonder what his would feel like under my palms?_ The thought kick-starts his plan.

 

 

_Touch yourself, Kurt. If you can't, how will you ever let Blaine?_

 

 

Suddenly, standing seems like something he absolutely doesn't feel like doing anymore. He's...hungry, he realises. Quickly striding to the light switch, he flicks the lights off, and practically hurls himself onto his bed. He doesn't slide under the covers, but instead tugs a small throw over himself, needing SOMETHING to grab on to. His hands still shake, and he's slightly mortified to feel a small seep of moisture beading in his crotch.

 

_I_

_want. What do I.....god....I want..._

 

 

Blaine. He wants Blaine. He wants to feel him. ALL of him. With a quiet whimper, Kurt drags a hand to a bared breast--recreating Blaine's touch from earlier. Electric pulses slam into his heart, making the wet slide between his legs feel delicious rather than mortifying. He squeezes his nipple slowly, and has to bite back a full-on moan. It's like the little nub is hard-wired to his...

 

 

_My cock. It's wired to my cock._

 

 

Using his other hand he begins to push his hand between his legs, ready to just rub and push and ignore the configuration of flesh found there--and stills his hand. Biting his lip, sucking the bottom one into his mouth, he instead uncurls his fist and uses two fingers to actually touch. The bit he likes to pretend away is hard. Not enough to tent the front of his boxer shorts, but hard nevertheless. It makes him smile in realisation. 

 

 

 

He begins to tease himself, poking, pulling gently with two fingers--three.  _Oh. OH! Mmmmmmmmmm._ It feels so god damned different from any other times he's dared to feel this place. Kurt can feel lingering feelings of shame and embarrassment ebbing away--he just cannot bring himself to care--not when he's feeling this good. With a tentative swipe at the wetness below his cock, he gathers some to his fingertips and gasps when the sensation and slide against the sensitive skin of his dick changes.

 

 

 

_Does Blaine do this too? Does he maybe think of me when he does? What does his cock feel like? Would it be heavy and hot in my hand? Would it drip? How does it smell?_

 

 

He moves on to tugging, feeling the skin around his cock move up and down with his ministrations. Visions of his boyfriend flood his mind, thoughts he'd never thought he'd have, let alone welcome in. With a shock, Kurt becomes aware that he's moved his hand away from his crotch, and has sucked two of his fingers into his mouth. The taste of himself on his tongue and in his mouth, sweet, tangy, salty, wrenching him back into brief awareness.

 

 

_Cock in my mouth. Blaine in my mouth....Oh, god..._

 

 

 

Kurt realises that he would want Blaine's cock in his mouth--the idea actually making him salivate, the intensity of the desire to to so flooding his eyes with tears. Maybe with a lot of communication and work on both of their parts? Blaine might actually want HIS cock in the same way. Moving his hands back to his cock, he dares slip one hand lower--to the hole he curses for existing. Gently, he pokes a finger at the opening. It's slick and hot. Pushing one inside, he does gasp out loud. He can feel clenching heat and  _OHMYGOOOOOOOOD, it feels so good!_

 

 

Adding a second finger, Kurt dares a soft thrust. He's falling apart now, all he knows is he needs, no,  _wants,_ more. He doesn't hate his vagina for a moment, it's making him feel so fucking much. He starts to writhe, one hand pulling at his cock, the other pushing in and out of his body.

 

 

_Blaine might fuck me. He could fuck me. I could fuck him....with my fingers....with my tongue....with my...._

 

 

Kurt's thoughts stop being logical. Sensation carries him away, shuts off the never-ending dialogue in his head. He gasps and clenches and comes. Pulsing around his fingers, twitching on his palm. He's not sure how much time passes before he comes back to awareness. He knows he's really sticky, and a little bit cold. He can't bring himself to freak out, though there is a small nudge in his brain telling him that,  _yes, we WILL be revisiting this one soon, kiddo._

 

 

Crawling under the covers, he's just about to drift off to sleep when a harsh vibration from his bedside table startles him. Picking up his phone, he turns it over, slides his finger across the screen, and is pleased to see an incoming text from Blaine.

 

 

**Blaine:** Hey there, you. You off to bed? I meant to text you earlier, but, stupid homework tried to kill me.

 

 

Kurt smiles broadly at the screen, almost as if Blaine can actually see him doing so.

 

 

**To Blaine:** Yep. Early night. It was very interesting though.

 

 

A minutes passes before Blaine texts back:

 

 

**Blaine:** Interesting, eh? You'll tell me why in the morning, right? Hey? I love you.

 

 

 

Kurt stares at the screen unblinking. They've said "I love you", but not in the "You're my boyfriend and I love you" sense. Something about the day, about his night, spur Kurt to type back:

 

 

**To Blaine:** Mmmmmmaybe I'll tell you. I love you back. Good night. xo

 

 

Kurt's not an 'x' and 'o' kind of guy. Usually. But today? He kind of is. He has actually been loved today. By his best friend and boyfriend. And, by himself. Who knew simple touches could mean so much?


End file.
